


Setting Sun

by BkZa555



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BkZa555/pseuds/BkZa555
Summary: He wants someone to be here with him. He wants to confide, to confess his fears, to quell his uneasiness under a friend’s ears, to be held in warm arms, to have sweet words whispered to his ears as he goes back to sleep, but he can’t can’t can’t.“Two more weeks,” He murmurs to himself, his body trembling as every emotion he’s kept inside starts to burst out, the dam he’s carefully built up finally broken and crumbled down to the ground. He feels tears flowing freely from his eyes as he cries and cries, again and again. He’s afraid, he’s lonely, he’s tired, he doesn’t want to do this anymore. He wishes he could’ve just let it all go and disappear.He can’t. He still has that promise to keep, and he’ll not fail it.He can’t fail now.[Makoto during the final month, Persona 3]
Relationships: Arisato Minato/Takeba Yukari, Persona 3 Protagonist/Takeba Yukari, Takeba Yukari/Yuuki Makoto
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	1. Rainfall

**Author's Note:**

> So... yes, plot bunnies are awesome! //facepalm
> 
> Again, I wrote this in three hours flat, nonstop. Why? Because my brain refuse to study!
> 
> Anyways... yeah, angst. Hope you enjoy!

Waking up is getting harder and harder each day.

The icing on top of that horrid, decaying, foul-smelling cake is the fact that _no one_ remembers _anything_.

Makoto groans as sunlight hit his eyes. Even though he’s slept for more than half a day already, and that it’s noon out, his body still feels sluggish and in pain and exhausted. He breathes a few times before forcing his body to sit up, hands grabbing at the sheets as though that would help him waking from his sweet, sweet dreams.

He stumbles out, grabbing on any and every piece of furniture he could just to keep his body up, his legs shaking and trembling as he trudges to the other side of the room. He fumbles on the handle of his wardrobe before finally being able to open it. He absentmindedly grabs a shirt and a pant before heading out of the door after he’s secured his shower product under his armpit.

He stifles a yawn as he keeps his mind focus just enough to connect one step after another, and another, and another. He feels like hearing someone saying good morning (or afternoon, for that matter) to him, so he just mumbles something in response as he drags his feet along the floor and down the stairs, mindful not to make a fool of himself and fall down. It doesn’t help that the showers are broken, and that they had to resort to using the bathroom on the first floor.

At least there’s a _bath_. He’s going to drown himself there for a few minutes (or hours) if he can help it.

He opens the door to see that the room’s occupied. Makoto groans to himself and drops everything on the couch before slumping down, letting his aching bones rest for a few more minutes. He knows that Ryoji _did_ warn him that staying alive for a whole month after spending every last bit of his life as the Seal would be a _bitch_ , but he hadn’t thought that it would be _this_ bad.

It’d have been better if he remembered none of it, or that _someone_ , anyone, remembered something. He could only sigh and hope that they’d not forsaken their promises to meet up on Graduation Day, or this will blow _hard_ and Ryoji’ll have to listen to him rambling about his misfortune for half an eternity or more.

The worst part about all of this is that Yukari – no, _Takeba_ doesn’t remember their confessions _at all_.

He wishes he’d at least have the comfort of her arms around him, or her hand in his, but those are all but fleeting dreams, now. She doesn’t remember, and he won’t try to force his way into her life like that – she’s happy, blissfully oblivious. He’ll not let his pain and pride get in the way of her happiness. He still loves her, regardless, so he’ll take that and cherish it for as long as he’s able.

The door clicks open, drawing his attention to it, only to see Takeba walking out of the bathroom, her hair damp as she dries it with a towel, her shirt clinging to her a little tighter than it usually would. She looks over to him, takes a second, before going a bit red. He just closes his eyes and waves his hand, letting her know that he’s not watching. He hears a soft, relieved sigh, before he hears footsteps leading into the other room.

He grunts and pushes himself up, stumbling awkwardly. He doesn’t have enough energy to care about anything else, but at lease he _has_ to appear normal, or they’d notice, and they’d worry, and their blissful days will be interrupted and disrupted and _destroyed_.

Makoto wills himself to walk into the bath and closes the door behind him.

“Four more weeks,” He murmurs to himself, his legs finally giving out under him as he slumps onto the cold, damp floor. “Four more weeks, and you can rest. Please stay with me a bit longer.”

He grabs his legs, then his chest, asking, pleading, _hoping_ , that his body won’t betray him until then.

* * *

Staying awake in classes is no longer an option.

He has to get every chance of rest he can, just to keep his body functioning and appearing _normal_ during the rest of the days. He’s still lucky that he’s narcoleptic even before the Fall begins, so it’s not hard to fool his friends that he’s just tired and maybe bored in class.

Not hard, except for one.

He groans as he feels someone shaking him almost as violently as the rattling monorail. He shakes his head and pushes it up with his hand, blinking a few times to get rid of the floating black spots, only to see Takeba sitting in front of him, watching him worriedly. He blinks a few more times and shakes his head, his eyes spying the clock.

He’s… overslept, most likely. It’s almost fifteen minutes after the end of the class, and the only one right here with him is Takeba. He wants to hold her hand, to hug her, to feel her skin on his, but he knows he _can’t_. He squishes those thoughts with all his might as he gets up, careful enough not to stumble or step on his own toes this time. He still feels Takeba’s eyes on him, so he frowns and just asks, “What?”

“You look sick. Shouldn’t you, like, go to the nurse’s office or something?” She says. Makoto curses his body for _appearing_ unwell, but he couldn’t really blame it. He’s literally running on fumes, and it takes every bit of his strength just to wake up each day already.

He only offers her the best smile he could’ve mustered. “I’m fine. Just tired. Played too much games.”

“Never peg you for the gamer type,” She says, poking his arm slightly. “Let’s head back to the dorm already. I’m tired and I want to sleep.”

“I feel you,” He says, tugging his belonging closer to his side. He puts on his headphones and scrolls through songs after songs, using the music to drown out the white noises. Two and a half weeks left, he can do this. He can do this. He _must_ do this. He almost breaks the buttons as he scrolls to the end of the playlist. He sighs and just puts it on shuffle before letting the MP3 go. “Shall we?”

“Mhm,” Takeba hums and leads the way. She stops when he doesn’t follow right away, and scowls at him. “Come on, slowpoke. Hurry up or I’ll leave you here.”

“Okay, okay,” He mumbles, willing his legs to move forward.

Two and a half weeks left. He can do this.

* * *

He isn’t sure what he’s expecting to happen.

It’s another weekend, where he could just sleep in and rest and let his life ebbs away through his fingers like grains of sands. He isn’t even sure why, but somehow, he fancies himself _strong enough_ to actually take a shower, and he finds himself sprawling across the floor in the next twelve seconds. He groans and tries to move, but his body screams and shrieks at him, so he just stops and lies there on the tiled floor, drops of water dripping slowly from the showerhead.

His lungs are burning, his eyes hazy, his limbs numb and cold like they’re dipped in freezing water. He tries to move again, this time successfully pulling himself up into a seated position. He isn’t sure how long he’s in there, but it must’ve been a while, because the sun’s starting to set. He curses at himself for a solid minute before he grabs the sink and pulls himself up, shaky and ready to fall.

He shuffles forward and out of the bathroom, hands clinging to the wall as he makes his way towards the bed. And finally, he lets himself falls onto the mattress, not bothering to change from his crumbled shirts or his slightly soaked pants anymore. He’s tired, too tired to care about anything else, and his mind is so heavy and numb.

He wants someone to be here with him. He wants to confide, to confess his fears, to quell his uneasiness under a friend’s ears, to be held in warm arms, to have sweet words whispered to his ears as he goes back to sleep, but he can’t can’t _can’t_.

“Two more weeks,” He murmurs to himself, his body trembling as every emotion he’s kept inside starts to burst out, the dam he’s carefully built up finally broken and crumbled down to the ground. He feels _tears_ flowing freely from his eyes as he cries and cries, again and again. He’s afraid, he’s lonely, he’s tired, he doesn’t want to do this anymore. He wishes he could’ve just let it all go and disappear.

He can’t. He still has that promise to keep, and he’ll _not_ fail it.

He _can’t_ fail now.

“Two more weeks,” He says again, to the empty, dark room. He claws at the sheet, burying his face into the pillow as he tries to muffle his sobs. His throat feels like someone’s rubbing sandpaper across it; it’s painful to speak, and his voice is hoarse and barely sounding like his old ones anymore. “Two more weeks and you can rest. Only two more weeks.”

_But you’re alone. And you always will be._

_No one’s here with you right now, and they never will._

_You’re all alone._

* * *

The day goes by so painfully slowly that Makoto wishes he could’ve just skipped school and lies in his room until the Graduation Day come.

But if he does that, there’s a good chance he’ll not wake up ever again.

“Yuuki-kun,” Takeba calls as he struggles inwardly. Moving is painful. Standing up in painful. Talking is painful. _Breathing_ is painful. He shakes his head and looks up, her expression a mixture of worry and anger. “You’re coming with me.”

“I—what?” He blinks, confused. Before he could protest, she’s already grabbed his wrist and is dragging him towards the nurse’s office. When he realizes this, he pulls his arm away like he’s burnt, and that stops both him and Takeba cold in their tracks.

She turns to him, _furious_ , and grabs at his wrist again, this time tugging and pulling him forcefully and painfully. He tries to fight her, but his bones and muscles groan and protest. He pulls harder, until his balance shifts and he falls to the ground, dropping all of his belongings and scattering them across the empty hallway. His back hurts, his vision’s swimming, and there’s red nail marks blooming on his arm. He looks up to see Takeba glaring at him, tears collecting at the corner of her eyes.

“Why aren’t you asking for help?” She says, her voice trembling, even though it’s still laced with anger that Makoto knows the cause of. He keeps his head down as he tries to keep his body up and not falls flat onto his back again. “Why are you like this!? Let me help, please!”

 _Please just leave me alone,_ Makoto thinks, closing his eyes and willing himself not to show any emotions. He can’t do this to her. He just _can’t_. He quickly and carefully collects his thoughts as he uses all the energy he has left to pull himself up to his feet, tumbling forward and falling to his knees again. He feels her nails digging into his arm as she pulls him up –

Pain sears across his cheek as he falls backward, his back hitting the glass pane.

He slides down to the ground, panting, confused. His hand goes up to touch where he’s slapped – probably, since she still has her hand up in the air as if she’s struck someone – before letting it fall down to his side on the floor. He’s tired and exhausted and he just wants to disappear from their memories _right now—_

“Why…?” Takeba manages out between ragged breaths, her voice cracks at the end. Her body’s trembling as she tries to stop herself from doing anything else to him. Makoto could feel his chest tightens, and he’s drowning in his own helplessness. She finally lets the anger take control of her as she snaps at him. “What the hell is wrong with you!? Why aren’t you telling any of us anything!? We are your friends! We want to help! _I_ want to help!”

“I don’t _need_ it! I don’t need _you_!” He snaps back, his control finally slipping out of his grasp. He pauses, realizing what he had just said, and looks up in time to see her eyes, widened and _betrayed_. He reaches out, voice raw and unsure. “I—Takeba—”

“You can go to hell, then! I don’t care anymore!” She screams at him and runs away.

His numb and tired mind takes a few solid seconds to understand what had happened.

And it took his heart a minute before he realized just how much pain he’s inflicted her.

He lets himself curl up into a tiny ball against the wall and cries until all of his tears dried up, leaving him with nothing but emptiness in his chest.

* * *

His trip back to the dorm is going to kill him.

There’s heavy rain falling down right after he steps away from the train door. His cheek stings, his heart torn to shred and shattered beyond repair, and his body’s half-paralyzed as he takes one step, then another, then _another_. He’s glad he has decided to just stuffed most of his stationaries under his desk – just picking them back up one by one is enough to drain him of every little bit of stamina his body has left, and carrying them all the way back to the dorm would’ve been a bitch.

He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket, but he ignores it. His MP3 is long since dead, and there’s nothing left but the torrents and the howling wind that would keep him company. Each stride makes his legs quiver and falter, and his lungs are screaming and burning and constricting in protest. He couldn’t get in enough air to supply all the muscles, and his brain is starting to feel it. He feels sluggish and just so, so weary, but if he stops walking now, he’ll _die_ on the side of the streets, and his promise will definitely be broken.

He can’t do that.

 _Keep walking. Please keep walking,_ he pleads to himself and his body. A few more minutes and he’d have reached the dorm, and then it’ll be okay. He grabs everything he could to help support his body; the benches, the railings, the trees. The torrents that keep coming down on his head is making every step harder and harder as the weight of the water brings him down, like chains around his limbs.

He’s only a few dozens of meters away from the dorm when his legs decide to stop working and collapse, making him fall flat on his face into a puddle of water on the sidewalk.

He struggles to push himself up, and keeps telling himself that he has to, he _has to_ , he can’t fall here. Just a bit more and he can drop into his bed and rest. He finally manages to push his body off the ground and staggers, hitting a tree. He punches his legs weakly as he wills himself to move again, focusing on only a step at a time, like he’s relearning how to walk. He sighs in relieve when his hand finally reaches the railing of Iwatodai Dorm’s steps, and slowly pulls himself up half a step at a time.

Again, he isn’t sure what he supposed would’ve happened, but when he opens the door, he’s greeted by _all_ of the dorm’s residents (sans Aigis, who he hadn’t seen since the last battle), who turn to him. They look worried and, after a second of taking in his condition, outright _terrified_.

_No, I can’t do this to them. I can’t bother them with this. Act normal. Just act normal._

“Yuuki!” Sanada and Mitsuru walk over and offer him their hands. He just shakes his head and stands straight, water dripping (or rather, falling) from his body. Mitsuru puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps him on his feet a bit longer. “What the hell happened?”

He glances at Takeba, who looks absolutely horrified, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she must’ve gathered everyone here because it’s taking him way too long to return to the dorm. He lets out a weak laugh before murmuring. “Caught up cleaning the classroom, and the rain falls halfway through.”

“Yamagishi, get a tow—”

“I’ll be fine,” He cuts her off, his voice a bit louder than he had intended. He stands a bit straighter, as much as he could, before giving his senior a reassuring smile (he hopes). “I’ll go take a shower and dry myself up right away. Don’t worry.”

“…If you’re sick, tell me,” She almost commands, letting his shoulder go. “You should hurry before you catch a cold.”

“Okay,” He mumbles, tearing his eyes away from Takeba as he makes his way (painfully) up the stairs.

* * *

In the end, he only manages to carry out half of what he’s promised Mitsuru.

He got into the shower, that part was easy. He managed to get the water running, that’s also easy. But he couldn’t stand anymore, so he’s just sitting in the shower, water splashing against his body and soaking up his clothes even more. He still has enough common sense left to throw the MP3 out of the way first, but that’s the only sane thing he’s managed to do, and now he’s trapped inside his own body as it just lies there and lets water fall from the showerhead and slamming into him.

He tries to breathe, but the water and his weakened state leave him breathless. He’s choking on his own saliva at this point, and his mind isn’t working properly anymore. He tries to move again – he’s got to turn off the damn water, or he’ll suffocate to death for real, and he _can’t_ , not yet. He’s going to keep that damn promise no matter how much it is going to break him.

In his desperate attempt to will his body to move, he doesn’t hear the sound of someone calling, or the clicks of his door. He’s only vaguely aware of something happening in his room, and it’s only clear who it was when the bathroom door swings open—

“Yuuki-kun!” Takeba cries as he feels her hand on his neck, touching at his pulse. He tries to speak, but all that comes out it a gasp. It hurts to breathe. it hurts it hurts it _hurts—_

She turns off the water and returns to him, her hand returning to the artery on his neck as he orders himself to breathe and keeps the oxygen flowing. She is saying a lot of things, but he can’t really make the words out anymore, too drained and too tired. His body and soul are screaming in pain and he just wants it to stop. He wishes someone would save him, but he knows no one will, because he’s _alone—_

When she tries to move away, he finds his hand grabbing her wrist on its own.

He’s panting and gasping for air, eyes murky and casting downward. He can’t move his head enough to look at anything, but he can’t let her go. She’s going to take him to the hospital, and he’ll be stuck there, and the promise will be forsaken and forgotten. He can’t allow that to happen, no matter what.

His fingers are trembling as he keeps his grip as tight as he could. He has to say something, _anything_ , or she’s going to let go and leave and never come back.

“Don’t…” He gasps. One word at a time. He could do that. “Leave… please…”

It’s unconvincing. It’s outrageously inappropriate, considering what’s happening. He can’t see shapes anymore, only color, and he’s probably going to pass out soon, but he _can’t_ let her leave no matter what. If she does, it’s all over, he’s going to be trapped inside a white room at the hospital, all alone with no way out until the promised day come, and then he’d have broken the last promise he could have kept.

There’s a long silence, and he fears for the worst, but then lithe but strong arms circle around his body and pulls him up to his feet. He places his hands on the wall, keeping himself from sliding back down as Takeba – he thinks, it’s only flashes of color in his eyes at this point – puts her hands on his cheeks. He blinks and blinks until he could see a bit more, inhaling deeply and forcing oxygen into his system. He _needs_ to stay awake, just a bit longer.

Her eyes are soft, worry and fear and confusion mixing into the brown pools. Her brows are knotted together, and it looks like there are too many questions at the tip of her tongue. She bites her lower lip slightly as she presses her hand against his chest as his heart beats his life away in a regular rhythm. She frowns then looks up at him again. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. If he hadn’t been caught in the torrent of heavy rain, maybe he could, but he can’t. He’s so weak, and he curses himself for it.

She looks contemplatively at him before pushing him back down onto the floor. He groans and reaches for her wrist to stop her again as she turns to the door. She pauses and kneels down slightly, a hand on his cheek, callous from her archery training but so, so warm.

“I’ll be back, don’t worry. Stay put for a bit, okay?”

He could only nod.

* * *

He isn’t sure how much time has passed, but he wakes up to the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, and Takeba walks in with two sets of pajamas in her arms.

She wordlessly set them down and turns on the shower again, this time making sure the water is not aimed at his face. He blinks, a bit confused, before she _hugs_ him and pushes him up against the wall. He tries to ask what she is doing, but all that escapes him is a series of coughs.

“Shh, shh,” She murmurs, pressing her hand against his chest and keeping him pinned. He pants until he catches his breath again, and when he does, she—

“What the—” He begins as she unbuckles his belt and throws it aside. Her hands then come up to his shirt as she first pulls at his bowtie, then pushing his jacket off his shoulders. “Takeba, what are you—”

She puts a finger on his lips and stops him as she continues stripping him off his clothes, one article at a time. Alarms are blaring inside his head, but he couldn’t really resist, as keeping his body standing up is all he could manage. She pulls off his shirt, then undershirt, follows by his pants. He could feel his face heating up, and so does hers. She’s blushing, but she’s trying to keep her face neutral as she pulls off the last of his clothes and leaves him naked.

“I’m not comfortable with this either, trust me,” She murmurs, her face the same color as her bowtie as she tugs it off of her neck. She pulls her sweater over her head and starts unbuttoning her shirt. “Please close your eyes, and keep them that way. If you don’t, I’m going to slap you.”

He does as he’s told. He inhales and muster up as much as he could before speaking, his voice hoarse and raw and broken. “What are you doing…?”

“Showering you,” She answers. “If I don’t, you’re going to have pneumonia by tomorrow, and I can’t have that, can I?”

He just frowns, but dares not speaking another word as he hears rustling of clothes. He feels his face going hotter and hotter, and tries his hardest to force the butterfly in his stomach away. He risks pushing himself away from the wall, but keeping one hand on it just in case. Her hand then finds his and she guides him forward. He complies, and soon feels the comfortably warm water over his skin.

His legs are shaking, and he groans, trying to keep himself up. He can’t fall or he’s going to flatten her _naked_ in the shower, and that image is not pretty in his head. He feels her hand on his side as she nudges at him, guiding him towards the shower wall. He mutters a low _thank you_ at her as he lets her splash water all over him.

“Bend your head down a bit,” She orders, and he tips his head forward. Water runs through his hair and his face and down his body. He sighs and shifts a little to get rid of the tingling in his legs. After a moment, the water is gone, and he feels her hands scrubbing the shampoos on his head. He grunts a little and lowers his head more. He hears a soft chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” He murmurs, screwing his eyes shut. He hears she hums as she keeps massaging his scalp oh so carefully, her fingers caressing his hair with care. He frowns a little. “Why?”

“Why what?”

He breathes, gathering enough air to say the things he wants without faltering. “Why’re you doing this?”

She doesn’t say anything for a while as she keeps scrubbing the dirtiness away from his head. When he thinks she isn’t going to respond, she murmurs, “Because I care about you, you idiot.”

His heart twinges at that. He could feel a lump forming in his throat, and he chokes a sob back down. She doesn’t need to hear that. This is enough. He has to keep telling himself that this is more than enough. He doesn’t need more than this.

 _That’s a lie, and you know it_.

He quickly kills that thought with everything he has and settles for a small nod as she starts cleaning away the bubbles on his head, her hand carefully nudging the hair away from his ear. He has a strange urge to open his eyes, but he knows he shouldn’t. Not only would it be inappropriate, he’d also get his ass killed by her slap (his cheek still stings a little, goddamnit) and that would be the worst way possible to end whatever scraps of friendship they had left.

Takeba starts humming a tune he knows all too well as she begins watering his body as it aches and groans and screams at him. He stays perfectly still and lets she does whatever she has to, quietly thanking her for actually taking the time to shower him. Yep, he knows he can’t do that anymore, not today anyway, and he doesn’t think he’d bother with it tomorrow, since it’s Sunday.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts when her hand rests on the cheek she’s struck, her fingers curling over his skin ever so slightly. He doesn’t dare open his eyes or say anything as she rubs the still painful patch of skin with her palm. He hears a sigh as the hand drops away from his face and touches his shoulder, reluctant, but not disgusted.

“Sorry about that slap,” She mutters. “That was _way_ out of line.”

“S’really not,” He mumbles under his breath. Truth be told, that slap was well earned. He’s done so many unforgiveable things for the past two weeks, so getting himself downed with a single slap is him getting off easy. “I earned that.”

“…If you think so,” She says. After a beat, she mutters, and he could hear embarrassment in her voice. “Um, I… am going to clean your body, okay? Tell me if it hurts or… something.”

“…Okay,” He says. And after a pause and a few deep breaths, adds, “I’m as… embarrassed about this… as you are, Takeba.”

“Oh, that’s _relieving_ to hear,” She practically punches him in the face with that sarcasm. He couldn’t help but cracks a little smile at that. Even with her memories broken and forgotten, she still hasn’t changed, not one bit. “Um, can you stand a bit straighter?”

“…No,” He says truthfully. He legs are jelly. Another step and he’ll fall flat on his face, he could guarantee that with his life’s savings. “Sorry.”

“Well… gotta make do, I guess.”

The water’s gone, and her hands are reluctant and awkward as they start rubbing soap over his skin. He sighs contently, the warmth of her hands that he’s missed so, _so_ much is on his skin. He’d wished for this since the beginning of _his_ end, a wistful thinking, perhaps, but a wish all the same. He lets himself smile and relaxes the hand he hadn’t realized had curled up into a fist, letting his fingers rest.

Her hand finally finds his as she rubs at them, cleaning the tip of his fingers and his palm, callous and scarred. He hears her muttering something inaudible under her breath before, much to his (pleasant) surprise, her fingers interlace with his own.

“…Takeba?” He murmurs, a bit confused. She presses the finger of her other hand on his lips to stop him as she squeezes his fingers slightly.

And then, the finger is replaced by her soft, warm lips.

He takes maybe too much time to process what’s happening; he’s frozen stiffed, happy and confused and scared, all at once. But the questions are all but forgotten when she squeezes his fingers a bit tighter, in reassurance, maybe. He hums, his lungs arching and burning, but he ignores it as he recuperates with what he has, carefully, gently, letting her decides what and how to do this.

She lets go of his hand and cups both of his cheeks in her palms, deepening the kiss as she nudges his lips apart with her tongue. He lets her in, savouring the taste, ignoring the fire in his lungs as they scream for air. He doesn’t care about any of that. Right now, all he could focus on is her; her lips on his, her hands as they caress his cheeks, her body as she slowly presses herself against him.

The kiss lasts for what feels like forever, yet too short for his liking, as she finally pulls away. He risks opening his eyes, to look straight into her soft brown ones. There are tears in them, so he raises his hand that’s not keeping his body up to wipe it away. She giggles a little before putting her hand over his and presses it against her cheek.

“So,” She begins quietly, pensively. “Yeah. I guess this is why I was so angry at you this afternoon.”

He lets out a huff before closing his eyes again and pressing his forehead against hers, the shower briefly forgotten. He circles his single arm around her and pulls her a bit closer, but not quite enough. Then he murmurs against her ear, his voice still raw and his throat still parched. “Sorry,” _About everything._

“You should be,” She says. He could hear the pout in her voice as she pulls back a little. She dutifully goes back to washing his body, her hands a little bolder, but careful to avoid touching anywhere that shouldn’t be touched.

It takes a while, but when she’s done, she carefully guides him out of the stall and wraps the towels around his body, rubbing him down. He hears more rustling, and after a while she presses her fingers on his eyelids and opens them. He blinks and looks down to see Takeba wearing a dark pink pajamas, which is just so… _pink_.

Makoto smiles a little as he reaches for his own, but she beats him to it and pulls the towel down, her eyes carefully avoid looking below his waist. His face is probably burnt and charred, at this point, seeing that he’s been blushing a lot this past few… moments. How long has it been? He isn’t sure, and he doesn’t really care anymore.

He lets her put the pajamas tops on him before turning her back against him, letting him put on his pants in peace. She then leads him by the hand to his own bed and sits him down as she climbs on it and pushes his head down, ruffling his hair with a spare towel.

His head is pulled back and forth minutely as she dries it, fingers pressing tight against his scalp. He could feel her body pressing against his back a little, and he’s hesitant to ask why she is not doing this from the front to avoid physical contact. But he decides against that; he’s content with it, and it seems like so is she.

After a while, when his hair is no longer drenched but still a little damp, she pulls the towel away and throws it into a corner. His eyes follow the fabric, but then he’s met with her face as she kisses him again, a bit harder this time.

She pushes him down onto the mattresses as she keeps his mouth busy, sighing against the kiss as she pulls him up on the bed a bit more, so his legs won’t dangle off the edge. He decides to stop asking questions and just let her do whatever she wants, too tired (or perhaps too eager) to put up any resistance as she hums against him, pressing her chest against his own.

Makoto could feel pressure building up in the pit of his stomach, but chooses to ignore it as her hands roams across his body, under his shirt, tracing the faint scars and the taut muscles. He hits her arms lightly and pushes her away as he feels himself suffocating, and she begrudgingly complies, her face flushed and beads of sweat start forming on her face.

“…Wanna explain?” He asks, brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push her away. His resolve to take the pain and the suffering alone has long since crumbled down. His heart is too tired, and she’s the only thing that’s keeping him going. He has to push her away, but he can’t, and he doesn’t want to.

“Well,” She says, putting her hands over his chest. It’s only then that he notices her fingers trembling. He looks up to see Takeba biting her bottom lip again as she murmurs. “…I feel like, if I let you go now, you’re going to disappear on me.”

Something’s in his throat. He can’t speak.

“Promise me you won’t go away… _Makoto_ ,” She presses for a promise he won’t be able to keep. When he refuses to answer, she grips a fistful of his shirt, and asks again, a little louder, a bit more desperate. “Please… Makoto, please promise me you’ll not go anywhere.”

He wants to lie. He wants to say that he’ll be here forever, but he knows he _can’t_. He can’t hurt her more than he already has, so he swallows hard and murmurs. “I _can’t_.”

Her body tenses up at that, and silence reigns over them for a few seconds that feel like an eternity before she curls up on his chest, her forehead against his heart. Her whole body shakes as she starts to cry into his chest, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He wishes she’d just get angry and slap the lights out of him and leaves him alone, wishes that she’d just forget about him and go away and never return. No matter how much he’d be broken and destroyed, he’ll be fine, because he’ll be gone soon and he’ll probably forget all of this. But she’ll live on and she’ll have to face the consequences, so her happiness is worth a thousand times more than his.

He then hears her speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why can’t you…?”

Makoto tries to formulate a response, but he comes up blank. He could taste his misery on his tongue, but he can’t let her know that. She’s known enough. After blinking a few more times and thinking again, he finally says, keeping his voice just barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

He feels her nails digging into his skin. He ignores it.

“Then,” She begins again, pushing herself up from his chest and looks him in the eyes. There’s still trails of tears on her face, but she’s determined enough to suppress it. She pulls at the scruff of his neck and forces him slightly up, so that she’d be able to look at his face better. “Can you promise to stay with me for as long as you could?”

 _I can’t_ , he wants to say. He knows he _can_ , but if he promises her that, he’d break her heart all over again, and he _refuses_ to put her through it.

“I—”

“I don’t care if you’re going to leave tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or next year,” She bites out, her voice quivering under distress. “I don’t care why, or how you’d have to leave… just, please stay here with me for as long as you could. Can you promise me that?”

His resolve is, once again, shattered and scattered into the wind. He can’t put her through more of this, and yet…

“Yeah,” He finally says, reaching a hand to her cheek and wiping away the stray tear that runs down to her chin. “Yeah… I can do that much.”

“Good,” She hums, and captures his lips in hers once more.


	2. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t cry,” He murmurs softly, putting his hand over hers and pulls it to his own heart as it drums his life into oblivion, slowly, steadily. “I’m still here.”
> 
> “I know,” She says, her voice unsure, her hands shaking. He squeezes the hand on his chest, trying to reassure her. “But you won’t be in a few days.”
> 
> His heart aches, but he has to reply. “No.”
> 
> “Will we still be connected?”
> 
> He doesn’t have to think about the answer as he whispers. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Truth be told, I finished this chapter since I posted the first one.
> 
> But I used the time to polish it, promise!
> 
> Anyways, don't let me keep you. Enjoy!

He is pretty sure that she still hasn’t remembered the Dark Hour and everything that’s happened.

Why would she even do all of these in the first place is a mystery to him, but he’s too broken to voice his concern and perhaps too aroused to care.

His arms are tight around her as he pulls Takeba—no, _Yukari_ flushes against his body, their lips still locked tight as they kiss, with desperation more than love. He groans as he lungs aches, but he doesn’t stop, he _can’t_ stop now. She responds by humming into his mouth, her tongue dancing against his before she pulls his lips in between her teeth.

He groans and snakes his hands under her pajamas, touching her bare skin, feeling her shivers under his fingertips. They part their lips briefly as she lifts the shirt over her head, follows by his with a bit more difficulty. He gulps at the sight of her topless body, breathless in more ways than one. He wets his lips as he reaches his hands, reluctantly so, to her waist, then upwards.

She moans as he fondles her breasts, carefully, sensually. He keeps his eyes on her face, flushing, mouth slightly parted. He risks sitting up, his bones creaking under the stress, but he forces himself to move. His fingers start nudging and pinching at her slightly perked nipple as his lips surround the other, sucking lightly, drawing out another breathy moan from her.

“Yukari,” He murmurs against her skin, free hand trailing to her hips and squeezing softly. He peppers attentive kisses across her chest and up her neck before finally reaching her lips. He sighs before pulling the hand on her breast away and holding her closer still. “Yukari, I’m so sorry.”

He’s shaking. He’s pretty sure he’s shaking, his arms firm around her as he keeps her body against his chest, his face buried into the crook of her neck. Her fingers ghost along his spine and his hair, carefully cradling him as he starts crying, _again_.

“Leave the apology for later,” She murmurs, pushing him back and kissing the crown of his head. “Forget everything else and focus on me here and now, okay?”

Her voice is not as firm and reassuring as it used to be, but Makoto decides to believe it. He nods as she pushes him back down and starts placing careful kisses down his body, as if she’s afraid he’s going to break into a thousand pieces if she’s too rough with him.

 _Don’t worry about it,_ he thinks absently as her fingers curl around the waistband and pulls his pants down and off. _You can’t break what’s already broken._

He slaps his mouth pretty hard when he feels warm wetness around the tip of his member.

He could practically feel her humming into him as she keeps her ministrations teasing and light, ghosts of touch all over his thighs and hips. A few gasps and moans escape his mouth and his hand as he bucks into her a little, his free hand grabbing at her hair and pushing her closer. Makoto lets out a rather loud gasp when she suddenly takes in more of him into her mouth, and tears the seams of the mattress a little.

“Oh fuck,” He breathes, chest heaving as she bobs her head up and down, sucking his length while her tongue danced against every bit of skin it could reach. He lifts the hand off his mouth and lets out a long, pleasured groan, his fingers bury themselves into her hair as he pulls at them and massages her scalp with the pad of his fingertips.

Her hand finds the rest of his length, and soon she starts stroking him in time with the movement of her mouth. Makoto just doesn’t care anymore as he lets himself moans and moans, hips buckling up to meet her lips. Her other hand keeps him pinned as she sucks harder.

She then lets him go before he gets anywhere, and he grumbles at the loss of the sensation.

“Stop grumbling and get to work, _Makoto_ ,” She teases as she straddles him, carefully avoiding his throbbing member.

He lets himself laugh a little as he pushes himself up, determined. The protest of his body is much easier to ignore now, perhaps because of his aroused state, but he decides not to dwell on it as he pulls her into another heated kiss, his hands sloppily pull off her pants. He hears the sound of fabric being torn, but he just couldn’t give two fucks about it as he tosses the last barrier between him and Yukari away.

He runs his hands along the small of her back, then finally cupping her behind, giving them a firm squeeze and bringing out a surprised gasp. He chuckles lightly and kisses at her collar bone, murmuring into her skin, feeling her shudders under his lips. “Surprised?”

“A little,” She mumbles, and yelps as his hands travel further, fingers finally grazing her dripping fold. “Hey, that’s not fair!”

“Neither are you,” He says, smiling minutely. Nothing about this is fair. His impending death, her forcing her way back to him no matter how much he tries to push her away – none of those has been fair. He pulls her flush against him and teases and touches at her folds, feeling her trembles against him, her hands gripping and pulling and tugging at his hair and his skin.

Her breaths are fast and uneven, slightly laboured. He murmurs sweet words into her ears, softly, as he finally pushes in a finger, eliciting a yelp from her. He feels her clamps up around his finger, so he stops and allows her to adjust, kissing and biting at her ear to distract her.

“Please,” She gasps, pulling harder at his hair that, for a second, he’s afraid she might actually rip them off of his head. Her face is flushed red, and her words are mixed with moans that makes him even harder. “Don’t stop.”

“M’kay,” He says, slipping in another finger and starts scissoring and searching every nooks and crannies he could reach. Upon touching a certain spot his internet surfing taught him about, she arches her back and cries out in pleasure. He stops dead, surprised, and she’s having both of her hands over her mouth, a look of surprise on her face.

By some kind of mischievous intent, he does that again, making her cries into her hands harder.

She glares at him and hits him lightly. “Jerk.”

“Sorry,” He gives her a lopsided smile and does it again. And again, and again. Each time she cries louder, and look less like she wants to kill him as she’s drowned in pleasure.

After he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers away and licks at the coated digits, making Yukari flushes and stammers. He just pulls her in for another lip locks, his hand fumbling to his bedside and opening the drawer. A moment of blind rummaging later, he finds the small, square package, and breaks the kiss to rips it with his teeth.

She gives him a look he could only describe as dumbfounded. “…Why do you have that in your drawer?”

“Please don’t ask,” He mutters and puts the condom on, fingers shaking a little. He’s tired from the storm, and from all of this, and from the Seal, but he’s too far in to stop now. And he _wants_ to do this. Ignoring the excruciating pain is easy (it’s not). He’ll just deal with the consequences tomorrow.

He grips her hips tight and aligns himself with her before looking up at her face. He feels her fingernails digging into his shoulders, and something warm drips down his back. A little violent, but he’ll take it any day of the week.

“You ready?”

She nods.

He deliberately and carefully pulls her down onto him, hissing and groaning as her warmth envelops his length, little by little. He lets her takes the lead, and she puts her hands on his chest and shoulder as she slowly lowers herself down until she takes all of him in. He lets out a long breath, panting. He keeps himself as still as he could and pulls her into another kiss, this time soft and slow and passionate, with every emotion and love he’s got for her poured into it.

She recuperates, putting her arms around his neck as she pulls him impossibly closer, their tongues circling and pushing and exploring. He curls his fingers on her hips and massages her thighs, mindful not to twitch a muscle in his lower body as he keeps his focus on her lips. She bites his lip a bit hard, and the sting makes itself known, but he doesn’t care. It’s only when she tastes his blood (he thinks) that she pulls back, touching his split lip with a finger and an apologetic look.

He smiles and puts a finger over her mouth, stopping her from apologizing. It doesn’t hurt anymore, and even if it does, he has more urgent matters to keep himself busy with. She simply kisses his digit and circles her arms around his neck again before she slowly starts grinding her hips on his.

Their moans echo through his room like a sweet symphony, the heat in his lower stomach getting hotter and hotter as she starts bouncing on him. He bites and sucks on her neck as she gasps and moans, speeding up her pace little by little.

Ecstasy replaces the excruciating pain as she rides him harder, her lips on his again and again, sloppier, more heated, more urgent. He kisses lower as she starts to throw her head back and half scream into the ceiling, legs quivering as she tries to keep their strengths up a bit longer.

They reach their climaxes together, just right yet too soon, electricity running all over every bits of their nerves and leaving them panting, sweating, hot messes on the bed. He tries to catch his breath (and is failing quite miserably, much to his dismay), an arm on the bed to keep himself up, another around her waist to keep her body against his just a little bit more. 

After their breathings calm down, he carefully helps her off of him, her body trembling slightly. He just smiles, regretting what he’d just done, but glad he did it anyway. The pain in his heart was getting unbearable, and this might just be the thing that would keep him from shattering before the promised day.

The aches in his bones are worse, much worse. He could feel his muscles tearing itself to pieces as he breathes. He’ll deal with it tomorrow; she doesn’t need to see this now. He sighs inwardly before forcing his brain to ignore the fire running through his veins and his lungs, just for tonight.

“Hey,” She mumbles, pulling him out of his thoughts as she curls up beside him, hands gripping his arm as if she’s afraid to let go. He turns to her after getting rid of everything else unnecessary on the bed with a low hum. She pulls him down into the mattresses and rests her head against his chest, fingers tracing a faint scar. “You’re staying tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” He reassures, pulling the cover over them and carding his fingers through her hair gently before kissing the top of her head, the scent of rose permeating his nose. “I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” She says, pressing her forehead harder against him. “I’ll take that.”

“Good night,” He whispers, hugging her close. He couldn’t bring himself to say that his clock is ticking away each and every day, that is end is coming soon. He couldn’t do that anymore.

What he could do now is living these last days before the promised day and making the most out of it, no matter what.

 _One more week_.

_One more week, and you have to let go._

* * *

He wakes up to soft, rhythmic breathing against his chest.

He smiles and presses his lips onto her forehead. When she stirs and opens her eyes, rubbing at them, he smiles down at her and murmurs. “Morning.”

“Morning,” She replies, holding him tighter and making his ribs creak. He hisses a little into his hand, but quickly waves it off when she gives him a look.

He knows she wants to ask why he can’t promise to not go anywhere, and he’s thankful she doesn’t. He can’t see himself wiggling his way out of that one, and even if he does, the guilt of lies, lies, _lies_ is going to gnaw and tear at him. He shakes his head slightly, getting rid of the convoluted thoughts, and focuses his attention on her.

She’s keeping her ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, her arm draping around his torso, curious fingers touching and tracing, leaving burns along his skin. Makoto just cards his hand through her soft, brown locks, earning himself a satisfied hum as she snuggles closer still, her skin against his own.

He has the urge to ask why she does what she did. There were no signs of her remembering anything, or being infatuated with him, but in the end he decides not to. Instead he settles for this one selfish wish to stay as close to her as possible, before the last bell tolls. Makoto sighs to himself and lets out one long breath before turning to look at the alarm clock.

“…It’s almost ten,” He says quietly.

“Mhm.”

“…Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

“No. Why should I?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“And?”

“Aren’t you usually up and about at Paulownia Mall by now?”

“No one will notice, so shut up already, Makoto.”

“Okay.”

Talking still hurts, breathing also gets harder, but it’s only one week left. He’ll make the most out of it even if he has to endure unimaginable pain. Again, he shoves the thoughts out of his head and breathes against her hair, feeling them tickling his nose at every breath. She giggles and kisses the bare skin closet to her mouth.

“We really should take a shower, though,” She says, drawing circles on his skin, setting him on fire again. He mumbles, but refuses to move. She pushes herself up, the weight of her head leaving his chest allows him to breathe a little better. “Come on, sleepyhead. We’re sticky as hell. I’ll scrub you.”

“Don’t wanna move,” He mutters. But refusing her now would be a hassle, so he gets up, arms shaking as their strengths are almost not enough to support his body weight. He grunts. “Fuck.”

“We weren’t going at it _that_ hard yesterday, were we?” She jests.

He couldn’t answer. All the weariness from yesterday and him pushing his body over and over again are starting to catch up. He starts coughing and doubling over, hands over his chest as he tries to stop. His lungs twist and constrict and _implode_ into themselves as he gasps, again and again. He tries, he wills, he _begs_ his body to stop, but his pleas fall flat as his body couldn’t keep up anymore.

Then, blood. There’s blood coming out of his throat as he keeps hacking his life away. He tries to stop, but the longer he gasps for air, the harder it becomes to breathe. He clenches his fists tight and orders his lungs to take in some oxygen, to just _please stop—_

“Makoto!” Yukari’s teasing tone quickly turns into something else as he feels her arms around him. She then scrambles for something on the table. “You’ve got to go to the doctor, I’ll—”

“No,” He rasps out as he breaths start to slowly — _too slowly —_ even out. He’s still left a panting mess, but there’s no more blood. “I’m okay. It’s okay.”

“ _Okay_ my ass! I don’t know what you’re thinking but _that_ is _not_ normal! I’m getting you help!” She snaps.

“They _can’t_!” His voice rises above hers, angry and panicked and _terrified_. All the fears he’s kept bottled up is leaking and spilling out and he just can’t stop them from leaving their cages. Tears fall from his eyes as he screams to himself, his body curling up into a ball, as if it’d let him forget all the pain and the blood and everything else. “They can’t help me! _Nothing_ is going to help me and I’m _scared!_ ”

There are no retorts, no movement, and the room’s filled only with his broken sobs as he curls tighter, his arms hugging himself, nailing digging deep, as if to distract him from the impending doom that’s creeping closer and closer and _closer_.

“I’m scared,” He says in a tiny voice, his vocal cords betray him as they fail to keep his tone aloof and cold and detached. He’s shaking uncontrollably, now, and he just _couldn’t stop._ He hears Yukari says his name again, but it only barely register into his senses as he’s surrounded by darkness and he’s _alone_. “I’m scared. I can’t do this anymore, but I _have_ to, and I’m _scared_.”

He’s not making sense. He knows, but he’s breaking and falling to pieces and there’s nothing left but broken shards of himself and his sanity scattering across the floor, with no way to make them whole again. He doesn’t want to do this any longer — it hurts to think, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to keep his soul attached to his body.

But it’s the last promise. He wants to keep it. He _has_ to keep it.

Even if it breaks him.

He buries his face into his knees and resigns himself to whatever’s going to happen next. He can’t fight her anymore, not physically, not mentally. If she’s going to take him to the hospital, then he’ll just have to break out on Graduation Day and—

“Okay,” He hears Yukari whispers softly, her voice broken and scared. He doesn’t look up even as he feels Yukari wrapping her arms around him. “I won’t call them. I promise.”

He hums quietly, unfurling himself and looking anywhere but at her, his hands curled into fists, his knuckles white, stained slightly with spots of red. She tugs him towards her chest as she sits beside him, an arm slung around his shoulders, another going towards his head and combing his mess of a hair.

The shaking soon stops, and he’s left sobbing quietly into her chest as she keeps murmuring things into his ear, calming down his nerves. He finally relaxes fully, eyes slip shut.

He allows himself to go back to sleep.

* * *

When he wakes up again, the sun’s still out, he’s still naked, and—

She’s still here.

“Yukari…?” He mumbles, not believing his eyes as she shifts to look at him better. She’s still naked and breathtakingly beautiful, her eyes full with concern, but soft and kind.

She smiles and kisses his forehead. “Hey.”

“Why—”

“Don’t ask stupid questions or I’m going to punch you, Makoto,” She chides. Her voice is trembling, with fear, maybe, but she doesn’t show it on her face. She then pauses before murmuring softly. “I don’t know what happened to you, or what’s happening, but… I won’t do anything if you don’t want me to, okay? I promise I’ll stay by you. Always.”

“Why?” He risks asking again. _Why would you do that when you don’t remember a thing? Why are you here with a broken person like me?_

“Because something in me says that this is what I should do,” She replies slowly. “I don’t understand it, either. But I don’t oppose to that idea. I need — no, I _want_ to be your anchor, Makoto. I want to help you through whatever it is. You’re not alone, you know. I won’t allow you to be alone anymore.”

He just blinks up at the ceiling and exhales.

“Okay,” He finally says, evening out his breaths before sitting up again. He feels her hand on his shoulder, and he reaches up to grab it. “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It takes him a while, but he finally, _finally_ have enough energy to get out of bed. Yukari makes an offhand comment about him tearing her pajamas pants to pieces (sorry) as they get into the shower, no longer awkward and reluctant. He thinks she might’ve planned this a bit too well, considering that she even has a spare set of clothes with her.

He no longer has the will to question any of it and lets her clean his body (and the blood), her hands so soft and so warm, gentle and firm. She doesn’t say anything about what’s happened before anymore, and he’s okay with that. When they come out of the shower properly dressed, she guides him towards the bed and sits him down again.

“What do you want for lunch?” She asks. “I’ll order us a takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” He murmurs.

“I said what do you want for lunch, not do you want to eat or not,” She states firmly. “If you’re not going to choose, then don’t complain when they don’t suit you taste.”

He simply smile at her bashfulness, and the way she shows her care. He then nods and says, almost inaudibly. “Okay. Order whatever. I’ll eat.”

She doesn’t seem quite satisfied, but she takes that answer anyway.

* * *

The next few days are… painful. The promised day is but a few days away, and he looks forward to (dreads for) it.

Yukari still doesn’t ask any questions. She just keeps close to him and subtly supports him whenever he stumbles or trips on his own feet. She doesn’t ask how he’s doing anymore, only glancing at him with a worried look, and he’d try to reassure her with a smile (a lie) and says that it’s fine, that everything’s okay.

_They’re not._

He can’t think straight, too numb and too exhausted. He’s tired, he’s sleepy, and he wants to not feel any of this. The clock ticks, ticks, _ticks_ his life away, one second, one minute, one hour at a time. His focus narrows down to the next minute, rather than the next hour. He couldn’t bring himself to eat on his own, he doesn’t even bother trying to. Yukari has to step in and take care of it, and she wouldn’t take a no, so he lets her.

His mind is lost in the fog, his breaths become laboured, his limbs numb and cold. Living is no longer something he’d call his current state as. He’s just trying to _survive_ through the last few days. It’s the last stretch. A bit more, until the promised day, and he could lie down and rest for the final time.

 _Please promise me you’ll not go anywhere_.

Makoto laughs at himself inwardly, Yukari’s voice burrowing into his head as he tries to forget it (he can’t). His chest hurts. His heart yearns to be here, to stay alive, to be by her side. He wants to say that everything’s okay, that they’ll be fine.

But nothing’s alright, and it’s all coming down to the earth, shattered and battered and broken.

“Makoto,” She calls his name and he hums, his eyes remain closed, his head in her lap as she combs her fingers through his matted hair. She nudges him slightly, and he finally opens his eyes to look at her.

“What?” He manages, shifting slightly so he’d rest a bit easier. His hands are on his belly as he lets his body lie flat on the bed, not moving a single muscle (he doesn’t want to) (he can’t).

She purses her lips, frowning. A single tear slips through her eyelash. He reaches out and wipes it away, then cups her cheek lightly, carefully. She smiles (it’s broken and forced) and puts her hand over his before murmuring only to him. “Are you going to be here tomorrow?”

He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes again. “Yes.”

“And the day after?”

“Yes.”

“And after?”

He couldn’t say yes anymore. After that day, he’ll no longer have anything left to drive his body forward, and he’ll be gone, leaving her and everyone else alone. They’ll live, without him, and that’s okay.

He’s just so, so tired.

Her hand in his hair stop its movement, and her fingers tighten around his shoulder. He doesn’t dare to look at her this time (he can’t bring himself to) (he’s a coward), only frowning and listening to her breath as it hitches.

“Why? Why do you have to leave?”

He couldn’t answer.

“Makoto, _please_.”

“…I made a promise.”

He opens his eyes to meet hers as she wipes away her tears. He gives her a tired smile as he breathes slowly. She looks confused (she doesn’t remember and she doesn’t know) but she doesn’t ask about it.

“…Okay.”

“Don’t cry,” He murmurs softly, putting his hand over hers and pulls it to his own heart as it drums his life into oblivion, slowly, steadily. “I’m still here.”

“I know,” She says, her voice unsure, her hands shaking. He squeezes the hand on his chest, trying to reassure her. “But you won’t be in a few days.”

His heart aches, but he has to reply. “No.”

“Will we still be connected?”

He doesn’t have to think about the answer as he whispers. “ _Always_.”

She just gives him a smile before she bends down to steal a quick kiss from him. “Okay.”

_Only a few days left._

_Please remember me, just one last time_.

* * *

He sits up in his room, alone, already dressed but too tired to move.

“Makoto.”

It’s a voice he hadn’t heard in what feels like years. A hand is on his, and he turns to see those sapphire blue eyes, and that sad smile, and the yellow scarf that perfectly encompasses his frame. Makoto is not surprised. He’s slowly walking towards the end of his Journey, so anything that’s going to happen will be nothing more than final goodbyes.

“It’s been a while,” He murmurs, a small smile on his lips as he keeps focusing on breathing. Ryoji’s hand tightens around his slightly, before the other boy moves a bit closer, his other hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” He says, patting his arm softly before pulling the hand back, but the fingers that are curling around his own remain there. Makoto doesn’t mind. The warmth around his fingers as they get colder and colder are welcomed. Ryoji then looks out the window, at the scattering petals dancing in the wind, at the bright, warm sunlight. “It’s been a long year.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you afraid?”

Makoto pauses. He _was_ afraid, as his day counted down one by one. But when the final day came, he’s strangely at peace. He doesn’t look forward to it, but he feels no need or urge to shy away from it. He’d welcome death with open arms, and he’s fine with it. So, he answers, “Not anymore.”

Ryoji hums. Then, another question. “Regrets?”

“Lots of them,” He says with a small chuckle. He regrets leaving. He regrets roping Yukari in to all of this and letting her see everything she shouldn’t have. He regrets having to let her see him in pain and scared, which tears out at her heart even more. He regrets not being able to stay longer.

But he doesn’t regret his sacrifice. He doesn’t regret protecting the world with his own life.

It’s the world his precious ones live in, after all.

“It’s almost time,” Ryoji muses, glancing at the clock, and then at the door as someone knocks on it. He lets go of Makoto’s hand and stands up before turning to him and giving him a smile. “I’ll see you soon, Makoto.”

“Yeah,” He breathes, a smile tugging at his lips as he watches Ryoji disappears, a small, blue butterfly taking his place. It flutters its wings over to his knee, and soon it vanishes. “See you soon, Ryoji.”

His time is almost over, but he’s no longer scared.

_Remember our promises, everyone._

_I’ll see you all there._

* * *

The spring wind and sunlight warm his body as he lies in Aigis’ lap, her face showing human emotions he’s always known she has.

She remembers, and he’s glad she does.

He could feel his heart beating weaker and weaker, the cold creeping up from his limbs as he breathes, slower, shallower. The clock ticks, ticks, ticks his life away, but he doesn’t mind it.

Then someone comes crashing open the door and running up to them.

“Yukari-san…!” Aigis says as she carefully moves away, laying his head onto the seat, so that she’d be able to leave him alone with the girl in pink (the girl he loves) before the others get here (for the last time).

“Makoto, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…!” She cries and cries again, her forehead pressed against his, her hand gripping his own which lay on his chest, cold and numb and unmoving. “I’m sorry! How could I have forgotten something so important!?”

He wants to console her, to tell her that it’s okay, that he doesn’t mind it, that he isn’t angry or resentful, but he no longer has enough air to say anything. So he simply sighs and smiles as he lets his head lulls into hers.

“I’m here,” Yukari whispers softly, still crying, a little desperate, a little happy. He doesn’t mind it. “I’ll always be here with you, Makoto.”

_I know._

_I love you_.

The words are left unspoken. He spies the yellow scarf as it drifts in the wind, flowing gently. Then something light falls on his finger. He glances, and sees a small blue butterfly perching on it, before it flutters away to where Ryoji is.

 _Soon_ , He mouths, a sad smile on his lips as he looks towards the door. _I’ll let you have a bit more time._

_Thank you._

As his consciousness slowly fades, and his life ebbs away, he finally feels at peace and warm. Yukari’s hand is warm. The wind is warm. His fingers are warm. His heart is warm as it beats its last few times, ready to let go.

He doesn’t mind it in the least.

Then he hears the others’ voices coming closer, seeing their silhouettes through blurred vision. His lips curl into a small smile as his last wish is fulfilled, his promise kept.

Ryoji’s blue eyes smile at him as he closes his own.

“ _I love you_ ,” He murmurs as he breathes his last, barely getting enough volume, but he hopes she hears it.

_And thank you… for everything._

As the wind blows, he finds himself drifting off into a place far, far away.

* * *

“Are you content?”

“Yeah.”

“Life is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“If you can change anything, would you?”

“No.”

_Because life is a precious gift. The Answer to Life is the bonds you’ve formed, through joy and tears, through peace and hardships._

_Life is a precious gift, and only when you give it to others would that realization reach you._

“One last wish?”

“That they’ll live with all that they have, and make the most out of it. This is my final gift to them, so I want them to cherish it.”

“I believe they will.”

“I _know_ they will.”

_The sun is setting, but don’t worry._

_Soon, tomorrow will come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That's done! I hope you guys like it.
> 
> Not that dark, but bittersweet regardless!
> 
> Cheers, and See you in my next work (maybe) soon!

**Author's Note:**

> So, how was it, guys? Like? Hate? Lemme know!


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